What We Take, How We Win
by zefrahn
Summary: "He trusts me! I was chosen!" Draco struggles with the war he was born into, and the responsibilities bestowed upon him. Sixth year, beginning somewhat HPB compliant. Slash. M for self harm, angst, violence, and adult situations in future chapters.
1. Prologue

**a/n: i apologize if this is exactly like something you've read before. i'm really paranoid about that. also, this is the first story i've uploaded, so please be gentle. c: and umm i think that's all i really have to say? this will probably be updated fairly quickly. PLEASE review!**

warnings: self-harm, angst, some violence, slash, adult situations in later chapters (not that descriptive).

_What We Take; How We Win  
><em>Prologue

He used to believe he was the best. His house was the biggest, his family the most respected. He knew from a young age that fear was more important than affection. Power was engraved into his brain. It ran through his veins.

...

From the day Harry rejected him on the Hogwarts Express, Draco was determined to show him he'd made the wrong decision. He was Draco Malfoy and only a fool would say no to him. But now, as he watched the blood swirl around the shower floor and down the drain, he felt heavy with the realization that Potter had been right. He was draco malfoy, who made all the wrong choices, who begged for praise like a dog, who took the coward's way out every time. And only a fool would follow him.

But what else could be expected? Golden Boy Potter, the Boy who Lived, the Chosen One: he could never be wrong. The right choices - the reckless, heroic ones - ran through _his_ veins.

...

Contrary to the things he'd heard as a child, Draco couldn't find any real difference between his blood and other blood. He'd seen plenty of the stuff and it all seemed to spill just the same. And he reminded himself of this, time and time again, slicing open his pale body and watching the Gryffindor red seep out. Proving that despite his name, he was just a person, another stupid person who was just passing the time between birth and death.

He knew Voldemort used that word on purpose. "You've been chosen." Chosen. _Chosen._ Whether he knew Draco's insecurities or just liked the irony of it, he said it on purpose. And it cut him open. And he cut him open.

...

Although he'd never admit it, he knew what he was doing was wrong. He didn't really want to hurt anyone. But to fail, and to look into your father's eyes and see blatant disappointment, no matter if your father's a monster... Because that monster walked alongside your stroller with his chin up, and that monster was there for your first word. He wasnt really listening, but he was there. And he was your father.

Since the day Draco was born, that monster was ruining him.

It took him sixteen years to really understand that being a Malfoy wasnt as glamorous as he'd once believed. Power, when youre not in charge, is relative. They all worked for the same boss, and to that boss they were interchangeable. The Dark Lord did not care what your name was. He only cared that you obeyed him. So being a Malfoy was mostly about obeying.

...

When Draco met the Chosen One, he was young and as innocent as he ever was. He didnt know about the solar system. He knew the world revolved around him.

He saw a pretty boy in a robe shop and wanted to be friends. Then he saw the boy again, this time on a train, and the boy spit words from his pretty mouth that tore Draco down and crushed him into bits. He, Draco Malfoy, was not what this boy wanted. He was not the center of the universe. He could not have anything he desired. He could have only what he took, and he learned quickly at school that respect could not be taken.

But hatred could.

So it began.

The bad insults, the teasing, the empty threats. For years he wanted nothing more than to tear Harry Potter down the way he'd been torn down. He wanted Potter to question the ideals that had been bestowed upon him the day he was born. He could have only what he took, so he took what he could, and what he ended up with was his own blood running down the drain.

In retrospect, it wasn't worth it. But regret doesn't undo mistakes.

Then the war began. And Draco blamed Harry for all of it. When the smugness faded from his fathers eyes, and his mom stopped smiling, and his breath hitched at the thought of being Chosen, it was all thanks to Harry bloody Potter. And when everyone was scared and he was their Shining Beacon of Unwavering Hope, well, that made him even less tolerable. Because there is no hope in power. There is no beautiful future where all are equal and no one cries - there is the future where you win and the one where you lose. And Draco was losing.

Potter always caught the snitch, and Potter always won.

Now, Draco tries to steady his arm, casts a few healing charms (only on the scabs - he likes to let the wounds be for a few days), dries himself off and climbs into bed. The other boys in his dormitory are asleep already, their steady breathing - and Crabbe's snoring - the loudest things Draco's ever heard. He thinks of casting a silencing spell but knows he won't sleep anyway. He never does anymore.

...

Still, if the world were a pyramid, Draco Malfoy would be on top.


	2. Chapter One

**a/n: ok this is kind of a lot further from canon than i originally intended, but oh well.  
>i don't really like this chapter at all, but i think it's kind of necessary. it's short too - my apologies.<br>also thank you to the person who reviewed. c:**

_What We Take; How We Win_  
>Chapter 1<p>

The dormitory is empty. Everyone else has gone to breakfast and left Draco, who's notorious for hexing those who interrupt his sleep, to wake up on his own.

Now he stands and mechanically dresses himself. It takes him longer than he'd like to find matching socks in what used to be a perfectly organized trunk, and once he has them on, he doesnt notice that one is grey and one black. He pulls his robes tight around him. He feels the silver and the green and it all feels cold.

Since it's saturday, he has nowhere to be, except he does.

He could probably make it to the seventh floor corridor with his eyes closed by now, he spends so much time there. He knows people are beginning to notice him slipping away into the disappearing door between classes, during meals, at night, but theres a certain power in keeping secrets, so he keeps this secret. They'll find out soon enough.

There's no one around as he watches the door appear in front of him and slips through it. Although he admittedly doesn't check very thoroughly.

...

The cabinet Draco's tinkering with is a fairly new discovery, as is the room itself.

He'd heard of the Room of Requirement before, but he wasnt expecting it to show up when he was pacing the halls a week before, pleading with the universe for an answer to his problems. But that's exactly what it did. At first he simply stared at the huge, ornate door that appeared out of nowhere, not quite registering what it was, but no one was around so he opened it and stepped inside.

He couldn't make sense of what was in front of him. It seemed useless: just bookshelves and rows and rows of stuff. there was no better word, it was just... stuff. He thought of leaving but had to remind himself that he had no other brilliant ideas, did he? So he ventured further into the room.

By coincidence or fate, the Vanishing Cabinet was the first object he focused on. He thought it seemed familiar, like maybe he'd seen it in passing, but he couldnt place his finger on where or when.

It was large and dark and wooden, with intricate carvings around the edges. He opened it and it smelled of dust. Still, he was intrigued by the familiarity and examined it more closely, and upon further inspection, it was... not at all interesting.

Maybe, he thought, I could smash my head in the door. That'd be helpful.

He yelled in frustration and picked a book up off the ground, something about How To Get The Witch (or Wizard) of Your Dreams. The people in Draco's dreams weren't people he wanted near him. He threw the book at the cabinet with all the strength he had - hearing it land inside with a thud - fell to his knees and let out a loud, choked sob.

It was a while before he was able to compose himself. When he finally left, his classmates were at dinner, and he went to the Slytherin common room to rest in a soft chair until they were finished eating.

He didnt plan to go back, but when he found himself alone in the corridor again, with the door staring him in the face... he couldnt resist, although he knew it was pointless. Once he was inside, he spent hours looking through the junk sitting all around him, finding nothing of any value at all. He ended up standing in front of the cabinet again, anger apparent on his thin face.

He looked it over once, opened it, and his eyes widened.

A smile - a genuine smile - lit up his face.

It was empty.

...

As soon as he looked down at the dusty wood, he remembered throwing a book in it when he was there before, which triggered the more important memory. He was with his father in a shop called Borgin and Burkes, when he was six or seven years old. He saw a dark wooden cabinet in a corner. It had intricate designs around the edges, and Draco drifted away from his father to get a closer look. He was running his hands along the carved side of one of the doors, the wood rough on his soft fingers, when he heard his father snidely telling him not to wander off in shops.

When they passed it on the way out, Draco pointed it out and asks his father what it is.

"I believe," said Lucius, glancing at a shopkeep nearby, "that is a Vanishing Cabinet."

The shopkeep nodded at this so Draco's father continued. "If you put something in it, it will be transported to a replicate cabinet in another location."

"Like a Portkey?"

"Somewhat, now come Draco. We have things to do."

...

It's almost time for lunch when Draco slips back into the hallway. He isn't particularly hungry, but he's feeling fatigued, and it occurs to him that he hasn't had a meal in days. He knows it's pointless trying to hide when there are people around, so he doesn't try to conceal himself as he steps out of the Room of Requirement. No one seems to notice, anyway.

"Malfoy."

The sound startles Draco, and he turns quickly, instinctively holding his wand up. His mind is a bit foggy from hunger and sleep deprivation, so it takes him a few moments to process what stands before him. It is black robes and black hair and green eyes. It is disheveled and messy. Everything about it is so... so very messy. Draco sighs internally. He's not in the mood for this. He spits out one word.

"Potter."

Harry's eyes narrow slightly as they examine Draco's face. "What are you doing?"

"I was just on my way to the Great Hall, Potter. You see, I often consume a midday meal. I find it keeps me from becoming famished during the afternoon hours. I call it lunch. Now I'll just be on my way, if you don't mind."

But Harry steps in front of him, blocking his path. "No, what were you doing in there?"

Draco sneers. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Tell me!"

"Now, Potter, whining won't-"

"Tell me or I hurt you," Harry holds up his wand. Draco sighs dramatically.

"Calm down, Merlin. I was just having a wank."

It's silent for a moment and the dark-haired boy looks taken aback. He opens his mouth then closes it.

"Right. I'll leave you to get all hot and bothered over that image," Draco smirks and turns his back to the idiot, but is jerked to a stop by Harry's hand on his upper arm. Strong, rough fingertips dig into the fresh wounds from last night's shower and an involuntary yelp tumbles out of Draco's mouth.

A _yelp_.

Harry freezes. His arm drops stiffly to his side.

Draco doesn't turn or pause before stalking away. He's not completely sure what's just happened, but he knows that all his dignity just flew out from between his lips - so why look back and see the result?


	3. Chapter Two

**a/n: ahh i'm not happy with this but okay. sorry it's short. review? c:  
><strong>

****_What We Take; How We Win  
><em>Chapter 2 

_Father…_

Draco must've written this damned letter fifty times by now, only to throw it out and restart. A pile of crumpled parchment grows next to him as if living, eating up the table in the Slytherin common room where Draco is stationed with his writing supplies.

This is how the other Slytherins find him this evening after classes have ended: slouching on the couch in the middle of the common room, across from the coffee table which is completely covered with ruined parchment, with his head in his hands.

He's been here for hours.

…

"If I may ask, Mr. Malfoy, why did you choose not to join us in class yesterday?"

The entire class is whispering and snickering. McGonagall is smirking just a bit. Every single eye in the room is on Draco. It takes everything he has not to draw his wand and curse them out of their sockets.

"I wasn't feeling well."

"This is only a suggestion, but next time you're feeling ill, I'm sure Madam Pomfrey would be more than happy to help you."

More snickering. Idiots.

"Right."

…

Draco falls asleep quickly that night, ready for the nightmares he knows will come.

There's a murmur, and a promise, and a wand pressed against a vein in his arm, squeezing out what's left of the pride in his blood and replacing it with pure, raw pain.

He bites his tongue to keep from screaming. The taste of blood in his mouth pushes him over the edge.

_This,_ he thinks, _is what my life has been leading up to. This is me becoming someone who matters. It's official now, I'm fucking important, and it feels fucking good, doesn't it?_

He loses himself somewhere in the agony of becoming something.

_This… this is what power feels like._

…

There's fear everywhere.

The air is filled with smoke and conversations, but fear is what fills all the spaces, all the gaps.

Children, giddy with excitement, bid their tearful parents farewell. They hug. They promise to write. They smile.

Draco's mother purses her lips and avoids her son's eyes. Draco's father says, "Goodbye," once and holds his arm out toward the train.

Draco knows what he has to do, and so do his mother and father. The children and their families do not know.

And for the first time in his life, Draco is terrified.

…

It is a day like any other.

The Great Hall is full of students eating dinner, and Draco is sitting on the edge of his bed. He's holding a small silver blade, removed from a razor he stole from a Muggle-born Fourth Year.

He drags it lightly over his porcelain arm, over the veins and around the skull-and-snake which holds his gaze, black in contrast to his signature Malfoy pale skin.

The thin blade grazes over his wrist and traces the Dark Mark. His veins look like rivers on a map of places Draco would rather be.

He presses down, and something like a groan escapes his throat.

Crimson blood drips to the floor.

…

"…and Mr. Potter, you'll work with Mr. Malfoy."

"Wonderful," Draco sneers at Harry, who rolls his eyes in response.

They're practicing defensive spells. Draco raises his wand and his sleeve slips up his left arm, and instinctively he jerks his arm to his side. Harry raises his eyebrows. Draco pretends nothing happened and raises his wand again, this time more carefully.

"Well? Are we going to practice or would you rather stare at me until class ends?"

…


	4. Chapter Three

**a/n: i promise the story picks up soon. -_- review?**

_What We Take; How We Win  
><em>Chapter 3

Toast is underrated.

As Draco lifts the piece of crispy bread smothered in butter to his lips, that's what he's thinking. He is, quite carefully, thinking about toast, mostly to keep himself from thinking about the letter to his father still sitting in his trunk, which goes like this:

_Father,_

_I've found a Vanishing Cabinet, and if I'm not mistaken, its partner is in Borgin and Bourke's shop. It is, as I'm sure you know, surely large enough to fit a human._

_My efforts to defeat Dumbledore have remained unsuccessful; however I have a plan prepared and am waiting for the opportunity to present itself. I know it will come soon. Give the others my best regards. I will write again with more specific plans if you desire._

_Draco._

He has no plan.

So he focuses on his toast.

He carefully examines each grain, each crispy little bit glistening with warm butter in the morning light, a color somewhere between white and brown and yellow.

In fact, he is so focused that he doesn't notice Harry Bloody Potter walking up and sitting across from him. Until he speaks up.

"Ahem."

Draco's eyes shoot up, round like little grey moons. Harry is looking at him.

"What the hell do you want _now,_ Potter?

"I want to talk to you."

"Wow, I wouldn't have guessed," Draco sighs inwardly. Harry is looking down at his hands now, touching his fingertips together and pursing his lips a bit, as if he's having an argument in his head. Draco knows what that's like.

"Get on with it, Potter. I don't want anyone to think I've decided to associate with the friends of Mudbloods. Much less... you."

Harry shakes his head like a puppy. Pathetic little Potter.

"Right. Um. Sorry. Could we speak in private?"

"To be seen sneaking out of the Great Hall with you? I think I'll pass, thanks."

"Fine. I know you're up to something, Malfoy. No one believes me but I know. And I'm going to find out what you're planning, and I'm going to stop you."

Draco blinks. His mouth is dry. Damn toast.

What's most strange is Harry doesn't even sound angry. His voice is... soft. And it gets worse. While Draco sits there stupidly, the Chosen One's impeccable observation skills kick in.

"...Why aren't you sitting with your friends?"

_Why do you care?_

"I was thinking," Draco says, his voice cracking on the last word.

The dark haired boy's eyes narrow. "About?"

"About how badly I want to shag you, Potter. What else?"

Harry looks thrown off by this, but stays composed enough to roll his eyes and say, "Fuck you, Malfoy. You're fighting for the wrong side. Don't say I didn't warn you."

He isn't able to choke a single word out before Harry stands up and begins walking back to sit by Weasley and Granger.

For a split second, Draco pictures himself sitting there, too. He's wearing red and gold, sitting next to Harry while his friends sit on his other side. Harry looks at him. A half smile lights up his face. He has a bit of pumpkin juice on the corner of his mouth, and Draco reaches up to wipe it off. His skin is so warm. So very warm.

_Um. What the hell?_

Surely he is going crazy - that's no surprise, really.

Presently he feels very cold.

Overcome with the sudden need to do something, Draco slams his toast down and flees the Great Hall. He wanders the halls a bit, ending up in the Slytherin common room. It's completely empty. And kind of dark (like always). He slouches in a chair in front of the fireplace and stares into the ashes and flames.

He holds his hands up in front of the fire, but they still feel cold. He's shivering. He inches them closer, a bit closer, a bit closer, and they're still cold. There is a millimeter between his fingers and the hot flame. Maybe a bit closer...

"Draco!"

He jerks away from the fireplace, leaning back in his chair. Behind him, a door closes and footsteps approach him.

"Pansy?"

...

"What's your problem lately?"

Pansy Parkinson has seated herself in Draco's lap, and she's stroking his left cheekbone.

"I don't have a problem. Pansy."

"Yes, you do..." her words feel like purrs, "you're sneaking around, you're avoiding everyone, and you're pale as a ghost."

"I've always been-"

"You know what I mean, Draco. I know you the best, don't I? I love you the most. If you don't want to tell me, that's fine, but-"

"I'm just sick of this school. I'm ready to achieve something."

He isn't lying.

"I miss you," Pansy whispers in his ear.

"Me too," I miss me too.

"Let me help you."

And she's kissing him. And he's letting her.

Pansy is nothing special. She's a fairly attractive girl with glossy hair and soft lips. She's been Draco's dearest friend - or something like that - since before he can remember, and surely she'll be his wife one day. Her family is well-respected, Pureblood, close allies of the Malfoys.

Yes, he likes her. Perhaps she's not everything he dreams of, but his dreams are all nightmares now anyway. And she's familiar.

Her cool tongue, the slightly minty taste of her skin. It's comfortable, and regular, and routine, and that's enough for Draco.

Besides, he doesn't have much of a choice.

So he lets her comfort him, though when they finish and they're lying in bed, her hands tangled in his hair, he's not comforted in the least.


	5. Chapter Four

**a/n: wow i'm sorry it's been so long! i've been really busy with school and everything, plus i've been sick and yeah there's just a lot going on. and i know this chapter is REALLY REALLY short but the next one should be up by tomorrow, if not tonight. so yeah. enjoy. and review. ~**

_What We Take; How We Win  
><em>Chapter 4_  
><em>

It's dark.

It's cold.

Of course.

A blond boy sits at a long table in a room with stone walls.

(He used to dread dining here with his distant relatives on holidays, using the expensive silver his mother loved so much, even though it made everything taste like coins.)

(The expensive silver went missing three months ago and no one cared enough to look for it.)

"Draco," comes a lazy voice from the head of the table and a few startled intakes of air give way to silence.

_..._

_There's a murmur, a promise, and a wand pressed up against a vein in his arm..._

...

A fair woman attempts to hide her tears with shaking hands.

...

"You, you, you, dear boy," a slender hand is on the boy's face, "are our way in! You are the one, _you have been chosen_. You will go to Hogwarts in the fall, of course, and you... will be our spy. But that's not the best part, no, there's more! Not only will you send us information, as well as find a way for the rest of my Death Eaters and I to infiltrate the school ourselves, but I've given you one more duty to prove how capable I believe you are..."

He has slits for pupils, and surely he is a snake.

"I will also allow you the honor of killing the old headmaster, Albus Dumbledore."

There are scattered sounds of disgust at this name.

"Don't be nervous, my boy. I've been told, and correct me if I'm wrong... Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

The serpent laughs.

...

Draco wakes up in his dormitory, shivering and covered in sweat.

...

It's later that day, as Draco leaves Potions class, that he notices the crumpled piece of parchment sticking out of his pocket. Upon unfolding it, he sees a single sentence, handwritten in a messy scrawl:

_Meet me on the Quidditch pitch tomorrow during lunch._


	6. Chapter Five

**a/n: wow. okay. hi. so, this was actually one of the first chapters i planned out and i can't tell you how many times i completely changed it, but i think i'm relatively happy with it now. i should also warn you that this wasn't proofread very thoroughly. and lastly, i'm sorry for saying it would be up yesterday, because that was a lie. i'm sick and busy. but here you go. (sidenote: i like reviews.) oh, and no, i can't explain why there's apparently no one around in the middle of the campus on a beautiful spring day. i just can't.  
><strong>

_What We Take; How We Win  
><em>Chapter Five_  
><em>

The sun is brighter than Draco thinks necessary. He uses his bony hands to shield his eyes, unsuccessfully attempting to remember when he was last outdoors. It's cool outside but not cold, and his Slytherin robes feel heavy in the breezy air. He isn't sure what season it is. He hopes it's spring.

The ground is wet like it rained recently, so Draco is careful not to step in muddy spots even though it seems to take ages to navigate his way to the Quidditch pitch this way. Time seems to be rushing past him, while he takes baby steps, and he's not sure he'll make it to the future in time. He's not sure he wants to.

As he approaches, he sees Harry sitting in the middle of the pitch. On the ground. Oh, no. There is no way Draco is sitting in the mud: he still has _some _pride. However, when he reaches speaking distance and annnounces this, Harry merely smirks and remarks, "Ah, theres the Draco we all know and love."

Draco Malfoy's heart does not flutter at the idea of Harry Potter knowing and loving him.

Draco Malfoy is not at a loss for words after Harry Potter uses "Draco" and "love" in the same sentence.

And when Harry grabs him and pulls him to the ground, laughing, Draco Malfoy definitely, _definitely_, does not stop breathing.

He's sprawled out in the wet grass, and before he can register this and straighten himself out, he looks up and is captivated. Above him and just to the right are the greenest eyes he's ever seen. Framing those are perfect black paintstroke eyelashes. The sun glints off the thin silver glasses that are perched on a slightly crooked nose. Theres a pearly white smile under the nose and it's crooked, too. But what most takes Draco's breath away, even more than the brilliant emerald eyes, may just be the hair that tops it all off. It's dark and messy and sticking up in every possible direction. Draco doesnt like it, per se. He doesnt like messes. But it just looks so soft, and it occurs to him that if he could run his fingers through that hair, he could die happy.

That's when he realizes he's staring.

Pulling himself together and sitting up, he tries his best to scowl but it probably isn't very convincing because Harry chuckles, which kind of irks Draco and reminds him that he's covered in mud.

"So. What exactly is it you want, Potter?"

The smile fades from Harry's lips as he speaks. "I want to talk to you."

"So talk. My clothes are filthy, thanks to you, and I'd like to spend as little time as possible in your company..."

He can feel the mud on his skin and it's driving him crazy.

"Yeah. Okay," Harry stutters and seems to struggle to find the words he needs, which almost makes Draco smile, except he's mad so it doesn't.

Harry apparently settles on the words he wants to say, for he continues: "I want to give you a chance to do the right thing. Don't leave yet, prat," (Draco had made a move to stand up), "Listen to me. Look... I can see you're having... a shit time, lately... And I want... to help."

"And just how do you expect to help me, Potter?" Draco's genuinely curious.

"I don't know. But just, let me try. I know we're enemies and all that, but I really don't want to kill you. Or see you killed. Or get killed myself, for that matter," the last sentence is quiet, almost a mumble.

He's not sure why, but Draco's temper completely flares at this, full-power, and in that moment this unexplainable rage is coursing through him. His voice reflects this.

"How many people have you brought out here? To try and convince them to switch sides?"

"What? None, I-"

"Fuck you. Why would you even think I'd _want_ to come over to the joyous land of Gryffindors and Mudbloods? Did you think I'd just smile and skip over to join hands with Granger and Weasel and sing happy Muggle songs, and everything would be fine?"

"MALFOY. SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME."

Much to his own surprise, Draco shuts up and listens to him.

"I am going to kill Voldemort. I don't fucking care what you say, or what you think. But before I kill him, he's going to kill tons of other people for no good reason. And his stupid mindless followers are, too, and then they'll spend the rest of their lives rotting away in Azkaban."

"You really think you can beat-"

"Draco, do you want that to be you? Rotting away in Azkaban?"

"I don't have to sit here and listen to this-" Draco starts to stand up again, startled when the other boy quickly pushes him back down, and even more startled when he remains on top of Draco, pinning his body to the disgusting ground.

The grey eyes look up at the green ones, both equally surprised.

"Do you?"

"...No?"

Harry just looks at him. "So let me help you."

"I don't want your bloody saving. Potter," Draco murmurs.

"I know."

Up close, Harry's eyelashes are a lot less like paintstrokes and a lot more like wings. Especially when the sun is shining on them like this.

And maybe they are wings, because when the two boys' lips somehow end up entwined a moment later, softly, carefully, yet deeply... Draco is sure he's flying.

(Let the records show that Harry Potter's lips taste like heaven, if heaven is a beautiful afternoon lying on the ground, covered in mud, kissing a boy you despise.)

Harry is the one who pulls away. And when he does, the blond boy just mumbles, eyes still closed, "Ugh... I hate you..."

Whether he hates him for the kiss or for pulling away, or for everything else, neither of them knows.

Still, Harry smiles. "I know."

Draco doesn't move or say anything else for a while, just lays there on his back on the mushy ground, eyes closed to block out the sun and everything else. His mind is a mess. After some amount of time - maybe a minute, maybe a day, he doesn't know - he breaks the silence.

"Potter?"

"Yeah?"

"What season is it?"

"Uh, spring. The beginning of spring."

Draco smiles to himself. _I knew it._


	7. Chapter Six

**right, so, um._  
><em>**

_What We Take; How We Win_  
>Chapter 6<p>

Draco opens his eyes, disoriented and confused at finding himself apparently outdoors, with the sun setting over his head.

"Morning sleepyhead," the words float over to Draco's ears from where another boy sits in the grass a few feet away.

_Oh, fuck. _Memories of the afternoon pour into the forefront of Draco's mind and he bites back a groan.

"Potter."

Draco looks up and is surprised to see Harry looking at him with the expression of a wounded puppy, his green eyes all wide and his bottom lip protruding a bit. You'd think Draco had just punched him in the face. He can't help but to say, somewhat rudely, "What?" and watch, fascinated, as Harry stiffens in response.

"Oh. Nothing. We should get inside... Malfoy."

There's something about his own last name, and the way Harry Potter sounds when he says it, that makes Draco's head hurt.

"Right."

...

_One cut for kissing Harry Potter. One cut for being covered in dirt. One cut for making the other Slytherins suspicious. One cut for making that last one crooked. One cut for kissing Harry Potter. One cut because you're going to die soon anyway. One cut because you're still alive. One cut for feeling hopeful. One cut for getting blood everywhere. One cut to restore your blood purity. One cut for caring. One cut for kissing Harry Potter._

_Oh Merlin, please let me make it to my bed before I pass out._

...

The next day is a haze.

...

Draco's wand feels heavy as he watches the necklace glide through the air and into a box, and the box into a paper package, then gingerly places the package in an inner pocket of his robes.

_"Imperio."_

...

Dip the quill, write. Dip the quill, write.

_Father,_

_He will be dead by nightfall._

_Regards, Draco_

Roll the parchment, seal the parchment, walk to the owlery, send off your owl.

Go back inside. Feel the need to vomit and run to the nearest bathroom. Lean over the sink. Cry.

...

"Malfoy?"

"What. Do. You. Want. Potter."

He spits the words out, unable to disguise the fact that he's trembling and Harry Potter is likely the last person he wants to see.

"Are you-"

_He is not about to fucking ask me if I'm okay._

"-okay?"

"Get out."

"Draco..."

"_CRUCIO_."

He watches Harry fall to the ground, writhing and screaming in pain, eyes squeezed shut. Harry's on the ground yelling in pain, and finally Draco vomits, all over the floor.

He doesn't even hear Harry cast the spell.

And then, all he feels is pain. It rips through him, literally, tears his body open. Holes appear in his chest. He must be screaming but he doesn't hear it. His vision is obscured by blood, and there's a loud ringing in his ears that drowns out everything else, and his last somewhat-concious thought is _I hope this kills me_.


	8. Chapter Seven

**i'm sorry for the wait!  
><strong>

_What We Take; How We Win  
>Chapter 7<em>

Dreams and reality, asleep and awake, alive and dead. The lines all blur. Everything's fuzzy.

Draco's in a dark room, Draco's being tortured, sometimes Draco even finds the sweet silence of death. But every time, he opens his eyes and there's Madam Pomfrey, forcing potions down his throat to keep him alive, and he's too tired to tell her he does not want to be alive. He takes the potions silently and once she's satisfied, he closes his eyes again.

Now Draco finds himself in a tunnel. A literal tunnel. And at the end of the tunnel, he can see a light, of course. He considers walking towards it, and tries to stand up, only to find he's stabbed his own legs. Lovely.

...

("Really, Ginny, go. I'm fine."

"You don't have to stay here with him so much, Harry."

"I know.")

...

Draco's eyes flutter open and he looks around. It seems he's still in the Hospital Wing. Given that he surely almost died, he's a bit insulted they didn't move him to a real hospital, but then he remembers he's worthless. He looks to where Madam Pomfrey usually stands next to him with medicine and makes a face.

"Potter?"

Merlin knows how long it's been since he's spoken at all, and the word comes out like a whisper. Still, Harry looks up from the book in his lap and his whole face lights up.

"Oh, thank Merlin, Draco, I'm sorry..."

Draco doesn't trust his voice enough to try and say anything else, so he nods.

"I just - it was self-defense, you know, and I didn't know what the spell would do, and really, you'd just crucio'd me..."

Draco just smirks and closes his eyes, hoping Harry understands.

...

"Well, Draco, I have good news. You've been here almost a week, and there's not a lot more to be done for you here. The wounds are all healed, with minimun scarring, and you're awake and alert. Unless you'd like to stay here longer, I think it's time I let you out. Before you get too behind in your classes," Madam Pomfrey smiles and the corners of her eyes crinkle.

Draco nods, he does feel much better. He stands up and stretches, agreeing when Madam Pomfrey tells him to stay out of trouble, although one could argue he's in the business of trouble.

...

As Draco closes the doors to the Hospital Wing behind him, he hears someone say his name and sighs instantly. It's Harry. Who else would it be?

"They let you out?"

"Obviously."

"Good... Um, have you thought about what we talked about, er, the other day? At the Quidditch pitch?"

"...No," that's a lie.

"I really do want to help you-"

"WELL YOU CAN'T."

A short silence follows, the blond boy's words seeming to echo through the stone hallways of the castle as his fists clench at his sides. Why won't Potter just _give up_?

"Look, Draco, what ever they told you isn't true. You don't have to do anything-"

"YES. I DO. And I don't want your help. I want you to die," Draco wishes he knew what spell Harry had used on him before, so he could cast it now.

Harry's jaw tightens and he looks at the floor briefly before looking back up into Draco's eyes and spitting out,

"coward."

"FUCK YOU." Draco loses sight of what's important, of what's real, of who he is and who he's talking to, and launches at the dark haired boy, slamming a bony fist into that pretty little face of his. And as it turns out, slamming your bony fist into someone's face actually hurts like hell, but he barely notices, having lost the ability to think about anything other than the expression on Harry Potter's face.

He looks... broken. He looks like he wants to give up. Like he could beat Draco into a pulp and then crucio him into oblivion, but he'd rather just go lie down somewhere. And Draco knows that feeling, and he's hit with the realization that Harry can't give up, and maybe he can't either, and before he knows what he's doing he's grabbing Harry's face and kissing him, hard, and he tastes like sweat and blood and maybe it's wrong but this is the first time in a year that Draco's felt alive, and awake, and real, and Harry's hands are in his hair and they're kissing outside the Hospital Wing.


	9. Chapter Eight

**again, i'm really sorry for the wait! school's just started and it's killing me. also, reviews make updates happen...**

_What We Take; How We Win_  
><em>Chapter 8<em>

A pair of callused hands are sliding down Draco's torso and he's melting into a warm kiss with two soft lips that move perfectly against his own.

"Mmm..."

The weird thing - the strange, possibly blasphemous thing - is that those hands are Harry Potter's, and they're now resting on his hips, which are resting on Harry's lap, which is resting on Draco's bed. And Draco knows he shouldn't be here, he should probably be murdering people or at least planning to murder them, but he can taste Harry's breath and if he moves his head a few inches he'll hear Harry's heartbeat, so despite knowing it's wrong, he can't bring himself to leave.

"Please-" Harry starts to say, but is interrupted by a scratching noise on the window. Both boys look up and see a tawny, school-issued owl perched outside the glass.

A cold feeling comes over Draco.

He climbs off the other boy and crosses the room, takes the letter and sends the owl off. Harry's looking at him curiously but he doesn't look up once. He recognizes his father's seal on the letter and opens it gingerly.

_Draco,_

_Having recieved no news of the headmaster's death, I can only assume you have failed. I am not surprised, although I must admit I hoped for more from you. However, arrangements have been made for others to complete your task within the month, and hopefully within the week._

_Lucius Malfoy._

Suddenly feeling very sick, Draco sinks to the floor where he is and gazes blankly at the parchment, trying not to vomit. Or cry.

"What-?" Harry tries to ask, but Draco only shakes his head slowly in response.

"Go, please," Draco mumbles. The black-haired boy just stares at him, looking like a lost puppy, so he tries again. "GO."

"What does that say? Who's it from?" Harry is suddenly very close, trying to take the letter away.

_He can't read it. He can't know. He can't be here. He can't._

"PLEASE JUST GO," Draco's voice breaks with the effort of yelling and he begins to cry, his hands in fists and his nails making marks on his skin. Harry hesitates but gets up and walks out, moving quickly, probably, Draco thinks, in a rush to get away from this trainwreck of a human crumpled up and crying on the floor.

_And I can't have him._

...

Draco's not eating. He hasn't eaten in two days, since he got the letter from his father. Incidentally, he also hasn't talked to Harry in two days.

But he's sitting in the Great Hall anyway, because he doesn't have anywhere else to be. Usually he'd prefer to be alone but he barely notices the people around him anymore. Barely notices the looks he's getting from the Gryffindor table. Or the looks from his own table.

...

Now, Draco is slouching in a chair across from the fireplace in the Slytherin common room.

"Have you heard?" asks a nameless Slytherin. In reality, he probably has a name, but Draco couldn't possibly care less what that name was.

"Have I heard what?"

"There's a new Minister of Magic. Pius Thicknesse. Word is he works for, uh... our parents' side." So this kid's parents were Death Eaters, too.

"By which you mean... the Dark Lord."

"Yeah, whatever. But this means we're winning."

"Hurray," Draco says flatly, picking at a thread in his chair. The kid awkwardly looks around before walking away.

_There is the future where you win and the one where you lose._

"Man, what HAPPENED to you? Don't tell me it's TRUE you fucked the Boy Who Lived?" comes a voice across the room.

Draco's brow furrows. "What..? Why would I do that?"

The voice laughs, coming closer, and Draco identifies it as the voice of Theodore Nott, whom he'd been distant friends at one time.

"I thought it was just a rumour! But you sure are acting like someone who fucked the hero."

"Piss off! I didn't fuck anyone!" It was true. Harry may have come to his room, and they may have kissed, but his clothes had never even come off.

"Ooooh did I make you mad? Harry Potty used to make you mad. When was the last time you even went outside? Did Harry break your little heart?"

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

"You're a traitor, that's my problem," Theodore says, challenging. Draco isn't in the mood but never was able to ignore a baited hook.

"I DIDN'T DO SHIT AND YOU KNOW IT. I'LL CURSE YOU 'TIL YOU'RE CRYING FOR YOUR MOMMY. Oh, wait... she's dead, isn't she?"

"NOT AS DEAD AS YOU'RE ABOUT TO BE," he draws his wand but is stopped by, of all people, Pansy Parkinson, who body-binds him and looks fiercely at the surrounding onlookers, who scatter like mice as Nott falls to the floor.

Draco looks around, shakes his head and walks upstairs to his room.

...

"Draaaco?"

Draco doesn't look up from his book, which he isn't really reading, as a dark-haired, smooth-skinned girl walks into his room after him.

She sneers at him. "You're welcome."

"Piss off," he still doesn't look up.

"Come on, Draco... I want to help..."

He finally looks up. Her eyes are big and she's biting her lip, trying to look sexy, but he just smirks and looks back down.

"I could've handled that prat."

"I know you could've," she walks over to him and purrs in his ear,

"but I like helping you."

"I don't want you to help me."

"Oh... really? Because there are lots of ways I could help..." she's running her hands all over him and it's making him want to be sick.

"Goodbye, Pansy."

"FINE," she splutters and he thinks she even hisses as she stomps out.

...

_Room of Requirement, tomorrow morning before breakfast. I have something to tell you._

The note is delivered by an owl during dinner and Draco almost smiles.


	10. Chapter Nine

**warning: ~adult situations~ up ahead, folks._  
><em>**

_What We Take; How We Win  
>Chapter 9<em>

Draco walks briskly down the corridor. Having woken up and dressed before the sun rose, he is thoroughly awake now, though the other students are just beginning to wake and migrate to the Great Hall for breakfast.

As he nears the seventh floor corridor and what awaits him there, his empty stomach becomes home to several butterflies that surely aren't really there. The need to turn back is overwhelming but he keeps walking. This is no time to start doing what's right.

_I need to see him._

It's that easy, and a door appears.

...

"Hey."

Draco almost stops in his tracks at the casual greeting. In front of him stands Harry Potter, the boy from the robe shop, the boy from the train. Since he met Harry, things have only gone downhill. Draco's life is surrounded by the flames of Hell and it's because of this boyish mess of hair and eyes and _hands_ in front of him.

But is it?

Draco doesn't know, all he knows is he needs to close the distance between them, so he does. He tentatively puts his hand to Harry's face, revels in the smooth warmness of it and is overwhelmed by the need to taste his lips, to breathe in his scent and run his hands through that thick black hair and feel every inch of that scarred skin and this is _Harry_ and Draco _needs_ him.

He has his elbows propped on the Gryffindor's shoulders, hands in his messy hair and their foreheads pressed together when Harry speaks again.

"I missed you."

Draco breathes the words in and feels them in his veins. Sweet and warm and real. He nods once and finally leans in to taste those lips, not opening his eyes once.

Harry tastes like Heaven and Draco is so, so hungry. He whimpers quietly as the ache of desire overtakes him and he loses himself completely in this moment. He sucks desperately at the other boy's lips and tongue, ready to take anything Harry is willing to give.

There's so much space between them so Draco pulls urgently at Harry's ugly t-shirt and jeans, never close enough, never. Harry lets Draco pull the shirt over his head, their mouths finding eachother again as he unbuttons and kicks off his jeans. Harry's fingers fumble with the clasps on the blond boy's robes as Draco pushes childishly at the waistband of Harry's underwear. Draco lets his robes fall to the ground and kneels in front of Harry, suddenly very aware of every move he makes.

He carefully pulls the stretchy fabric down the Gryffindor's legs, almost laughing when his erection bobs happily in freedom.

Strangely fascinated, he takes Harry in his hand, something like heat running up his spine when Harry groans at the contact. He cautiously fists Harry's thick erection, loving the look on his scarred face, and then takes him into his mouth.

And he tastes like Heaven.

...

"Why did you make me leave before?" Harry says, barely above a whisper. They're laying on a wide grey-coloured couch, their bodies tangled together like vines.

Draco shakes his head slowly. He doesn't know how to tell Harry the awful things that he's done. He doesn't know how to tell Harry and he wishes he didn't have to, he wishes they weren't real and that lying here in the quiet with Harry was his only obligation.

It's the only one that feels real.

He finds himself trying to explain it anyway, despite his fear and his distrust, he feels warmer and safer now than he has in years, lying here naked with Harry Potter running his fingers along his arm, so he tries to explain.

"I didn't want you to know what I had to do. I didn't want you to know that I had failed." His voice is shaking.

Harry looks up at Draco, confused, still tracing shapes on Draco's skin. "Failed at what?"

"My... task."

"What task?" Harry sits up, concern shaping his features.

Just like that.

Draco breaks.

"I'm so sorry," he shakes his head at the tears falling down his face.

Harry, bewildered and concerned, doesn't say anything but reaches out to Draco and tries to wipe his tears. He just cries harder in response.

"I had to. I had no choice! He's going to die and it's my fault! I couldn't kill him. I'm so pathetic. I'm so sorry..."

"Who? Who's going to die, Draco? It's okay! I can help you! Talk to me!"

But Draco is gone. He can't hear Harry, he's somewhere else completely. He's in a dark room, he's in the garden with his father, there's a wand pressed up against a vein in his arm... _The serpent laughs._

"It's too late, don't you see? They're coming... it's my fault! Oh, Gods, I just wanted... I just wanted to do the right thing..."

And then it all goes black.

...

Draco wakes up to find himself in Harry's arms, precisely where he's wanted to be for years. He's greeted by a small smile, all green eyes and white teeth, and can't help but to smile back despite the tearstains on both their faces.

"Draco..."

"Harry."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm... yes," and he remembers. Urgency fills his body. "Dumbledore! They're going to kill him, Harry, I couldn't do it but they can. They're coming!"

Harry looks worried but takes Draco's hand calmly, "Draco, shhh. It's okay."

Still, he sprints through the school to Dumbledore's office, dragging Draco along by the hand.

...

"I'm afraid Professor Dumbledore is not available," McGonagall says. "Surely, whatever you have to tell him can wait."

"Not available? Where is he?" Harry pants.

"If you must know, he's away on private business."

From across the grounds, Draco hears a crash.

_No, no, no, no, please no._


	11. Chapter Ten

**aaand we're almost to the end of this... journey? thanks for sticking around this long.  
><strong>

_What We Take; How We Win  
>Chapter 10<em>

"What was... Draco, how were they going to get into Hogwarts?" Harry's voice is higher than normal.

But Draco's already running back the way they came, towards the Room of Requirement and the door into the school he practically built for the Death Eaters. He stands shakily around the corner of the hall and watches the masked faces emerge from the magic doors.

"...Draco?" Harry pants behind him.

"I- I told father- the Vanishing Cabinet, Harry, I did this!" Draco's breathing frantically, unable to get the oxygen to his brain. Everything's spinning around him.

Harry wraps his hands around Draco's arms firmly, murmuring, "Listen to me, I need you to stay calm, love. Come on, breathe, it's okay."

Draco tries to take deeper breaths, but he shakes his head, "It's not okay..."

Five Death Eaters are strutting down the corridor now, away from Draco and Harry, silver masks and wands at the ready. A random pillar lies in ruins and Draco recognizes the crazed laugh of Bellatrix acting as ongoing background noise.

"Where are they going... Dumbledore isn't here?" Harry whispers.

Draco shrugs, but he knows. "He has to come back eventually," he sighs.

"Bella, quiet," comes a nasally voice from the other end of the hall.

_Of course_, all the pieces fit together in Draco's mind, but Harry seems to be struggling with the image of the greasy-haired, hook-nosed man exchanging greetings with the Death Eaters, so Draco whispers, "Snape. He would know where Dumbledore's gone and when he'll be back. He also acts as protection and he knows his way around the school."

"But... Dumbledore trusts him..."

"Harry, I know Severus. He's my Godfather. He may be good for the sake of the people he loves, but his true alliance lies with the Dark Lord. It always has."

Draco regrets speaking up. He can practically feel the Heroism rushing to Harry's brain and has to refrain from putting his face in his hands when the other boy, predictably, yells "STUPEFY!"

One faceless Death Eater crumples to the ground. The other four, and Snape, pivot sharply, wands raised.

"Cru-" says Bellatrix, but Snape puts a hand up and drawls, "Bella, are you blind? Why do you wish to cast an Unforgivable on our Draco?"

Bellatrix throws her arms up, "perhaps it would do him good! Besides, is that not the Potter boy? It seems_ someone's _sparked a romance... Too busy making love to the Chosen One to complete his tasks, me thinks," and she giggles.

Draco stares at her. Harry, on the other hand, tries to disarm her. She blocks his spell and cackles.

"Now, now, children, let us stop this. These are our guests, Harry, it wouldn't harm you to be kind to them," says Snape. Harry starts to make some Heroic response, but Snape ignores him and continues, "and as for you, Draco... It seems we have some catching up to do."

Draco nods. "It does."

"Later, of course. I'm sure you're quite aware of our intentions, so we'll leave you. Potter, we are not interested in fighting you," he says because Harry has just raised his wand, "and will not harm you unless you give us reason to do so."

With that, Snape turns and leads the Death Eaters away. Harry starts to follow them but turns back to Draco who has sunken to the floor and sits with a blank expression.

"Draco! Come on! We have to stop them!"

Draco just looks down at the stone floor. "Why? They're going to kill him either way. If you go, they'll kill you too..."

"I'm not gonna sit here with you while they kill people, Draco!"

And so, pathetically, Draco begins to cry. Again.

"I'm not asking you to."

"Right. Okay. Whatever, Draco. I'm going to try and help Dumbledore. You should go somewhere safer. Like your dormitory."

"I won't," Draco sniffs defiantly.

Harry sighs and takes the few steps to close the distance between the two of them, kneeling down and kissing Draco once, softly.

That's when it occurs to Draco that maybe he can help. Maybe he can undo what he's done. So as Harry runs past the Stupified body on the ground to find the Death Eaters, Draco finds himself getting up and running after him. Because really, this is no time to start valuing his own life.

From then on, everything is chaos.

Harry is yelling for Dumbledore, only to be stopped by a bewildered McGonagall, to whom he attempts to explain the situation. She assures him that it will be okay and begins alerting the teachers.

So it's with an army comprised of Professor McGonagall, three other teachers and two Gryffindor Prefects, who refuse to leave once they overhear the situation, that Harry and Draco finally find and approach the waiting Death Eaters at the top of the Astronomy Tower.

"Severus..." McGonagall says, hissing slightly.

Snape grimaces.

And then, conveniently, Dumbledore walks up the steps of the tower.

"My, my, what's going on here?" he says. The Death Eaters look surprised to find him in such good condition, and to find themselves so outnumbered. Still, they attempt to fight their way out of it.

"AVADA KEVADRA!" one yells. Dumbledore reflects the spell with a lazy flick of his wand and the caster collapses. Dumbledore looks sadly at the corpse on the ground, eyes sparkling with something like regret. Draco doesn't know why.

Two more Death Eaters try to kill him and he blocks the spells easily, and after only a few moments the three remaining Death Eaters flee, leaving Snape, Dumbledore, and the army Harry and Draco formed standing atop the Astronomy Tower.

A cool evening breeze sets in. Draco shivers then allows himself a small smile as Harry envelopes him in his warm arms from behind, despite the looks everyone gives them.

"Soon, Severus. But not yet," says Dumbledore, and then he turns and leaves without a word to anyone else. The tower slowly empties out until Draco and Harry are alone, standing confused and tired with their arms around eachother.

"I'm not your damsel in distress, you know," Draco says because it seems appropriate.

Harry smirks. "Oh, really?"

The cool night suffocates their words and leaves them with nothing to say, nothing to do but look out at the sky and trace invisible constellations in eachothers skin.


	12. Epilogue

**i almost didn't write this. it's been a long time since i've updated, and i almost just let this story die, one chapter from the end. but i didn't. i did, however, write this in a bit of a rush and without any plan. so.**

**thank you, to everyone who's read this, especially those who've reviewed. i really, really, really, really appreciate it. a lot.**

**alright! let's do this.**

_What We Take; How We Win_  
>Epilogue<p>

Draco's eyes open slowly and he blinks a few times at the warm sunlight enveloping him. He looks around, noting the red and gold tapestry surrounding him. It's been at least a week since he's slept in his own dormitory but he still hasn't adjusted to the sensation of waking up in a tower instead of a dungeon.

He grins lazily at the battle-scarred arm draped carefully across his torso. He knows there are things he should be worrying about - like the fact that he is probably going to die fairly soon - but right now he can't think of anything but the sleeping boy next to him.

Coincidentally, the sleeping boy begins to stir now. His right hand moves briefly to his face and he opens his eyes, yawning.

"Morning," Draco smiles.

Harry tightens his hold on Draco's waist and responds with a little humming noise.

...

"I told you lot he was fuckin' Harry Potter!" laughs Theodore Nott.

Half the Slytherins laugh, too, and half stay quiet. Pansy Parkinson, who's seated across the room, angrily scribbles something out, rolls up her parchment, and stomps to the girls' dormitory.

"How is he?" Theodore scoots over so he's uncomfortably close to Draco.

"Shut up."

"No, c'mon! How's the Boy Who Lived in bed?"

Draco pushes him - hard, so he falls to the ground. Suddenly furious, Theodore reaches for his wand, but Draco quickly disarms him and sends an _Engorgio Skullus _his way. He looks challengingly at the other occupants of the common room, who say nothing, and then storms out.

...

"I love you, y'know."

"What?" Draco looks up from the book in his hands.

Harry smiles softly. "I love you."

They're in a quiet corner of the library reading up on various types of Dark Magic, except Draco's having a hard time reading anything when Harry's looking at him like that - like he's the king of the world, the top of the pyramid. Like he's the_ best_.

Draco reaches out and cradles the other boy's cheek.

"I love you, too."

...

"Gods, yes..." Harry collapses onto the bed next to Draco, kissing him and murmuring words of affection.

Draco lies tangled with Harry, slowly emerging from a state of ecstasy. Everything's blurry for a few moments, but when he's able, he props himself up on his elbows and looks at Harry, who's tracing shapes in Draco's skin with his fingers (this is a favorite pastime of his).

"Harry?"

The dark-haired boy looks up at him. "Yeah?"

"What... what are we going to do?"

Harry hesitates. "Honestly...? I haven't the slightest idea," then he chuckles.

"Are we gonna be okay?"

"I dunno," Harry says, and Draco knows it's the truth, "but we're gonna be together."

Draco nods. Somehow, he's reassured.

...

Draco Malfoy is more than his father. He is more than this war and more than every mistake he's ever made.

He is a casualty of a war he never wanted to fight in.

He is Draco, and here is Harry, and Harry is his. Draco Malfoy is, finally, not the letters of his name - he's the way Harry moans it as they move together in the dark.

He is the Slytherin green of Harry's eyes and the Gryffindor red of his own blood. He's a half-healed cut with a snake on his arm.

And he can have only what he takes. So he takes Harry into his arms and drifts to sleep.

...

Maybe he's not The Chosen One, but Harry has chosen him, and that's enough.


End file.
